Analytical Minds
by Kaleidoscopic Panda Bear
Summary: That's when I decided. If Hanna ever fell apart, I would be there to stitch him back together again. I smiled at my mental promise, but decided not to bring it up. Not unless Hanna brought his nightmare up, maybe. But maybe not even then. (Through Zombie's P.O.V; shameless fluff.)
1. Chapter 1

My mind wanders a lot at night. The light snores coming from Hanna's bed keeps me occupied for the most part, reminding me that, in a few hours' time, the warm, nestled up bundle of inactivity would turn into a hyperactive, ever-moving streak of pale skin and flaming hair.

I would never admit it, but more often than not, I pass the now cold nights by watching Hanna sleep. It's kind of creepy, I know, and that is exactly why I won't admit it. I'd really rather not make things awkward between myself and my…partner, though I doubt that Hanna would think it weird.

The man would probably feel special for having a 'guardian' or something to watch him while he slept.

A restless shifting broke me out of my mental ramblings. Looking away from the far wall and letting the eerie, orange-ish glow of my eyes wash over Hanna, I cursed inwardly when I saw that the man's face was twisted up in fear or pain.

A noise just short of a whimper slipped out of Hanna's mouth; he was having a nightmare. _Ironic, for a paranormal investigator. _I sighed, and with a minute's hesitation, placed my hands on the redhead's bare shoulders and shook him gently.

"Hanna, wake up," I said quietly. After another few moments, teary eyes blinked open, and even as the tears leaked down Hanna's face, he smiled and choked out a hoarse, "Hey, Chavez." His smile faltered even before I had a chance to ask him if he was okay.

The glow from my eyes illuminated Hanna's face, and as the tired man turned to feel for his glasses on the floor, his lips brushed against my leather bound thumb. My hands were immediately taken off of Hanna's shoulders, and a moment later, glasses were hiding the majority of the left over tears.

I could very clearly see the reflection of my eyes in the lenses. Leaning away, I sighed and went to rub at my face with my hands. Except, warm digits wrapped around the cold skin of my wrists and stopped the action. There were no more smiles, and a few more tears traced their way down Hanna's cheeks as he pulled himself into a sitting position with a little bit of my help.

"Thanks," he whispered, voice still hoarse. His hands dropped into his lap as his fingers twisted and fidgeted in anxiety, and it was only when he started scratching absentmindedly at his arms did I grasp his hands in mine and pull them towards me.

"Hanna," he didn't respond, but then again, I hadn't expected him to. My grip on his hands loosened until our palms simply rested together, my fingertips brushing lightly against the skin on his wrists. I sighed and then he shuddered, and then he was gone, the bathroom door slipping only halfway shut as the sounds of dry heaving reached my ears.

I sighed again. This was turning out to be an eventful night. I got up and trudged it open all the way. And there, in all his glory, was Hanna, hugging the porcelain god and throwing up whatever was left in his stomach of the dinner I had made him.

I could feel the concern bubbling up in my throat, and even if I couldn't get an answer, I said, "Hanna, are you alright?" He shook his head and muttered something that I couldn't hear, but it was answer enough. I crouched down, and as gently as I could, threaded my fingers through his thick curls to get them out of his face.

"Thank you," he mumbled. I heard it that time. Almost immediately after saying it, he leaned over again and an impossible amount of (mostly) water came out. Once done, he leaned back- bit dangerously far, if you ask me- and groaned when my hand came into contact with his back.

I steadied him with that hand, freeing the other from his fiery locks to push the handle down on the toilet to flush everything away. "Why are you so cold?" he stuttered out, but didn't move away from my touch. A wry smile spread over my face.

"I'm a decade past my expiration date; what's your excuse?" It took him a few moments to get that I made a joke (which, yes, it was kind of rare), and I took the opportunity to move the hand from his back to encircle his narrow hips.

"Upsa-daisy, Hanna," I pulled him up as the belated chuckles wracked his frame; I briefly wondered where these mood swings were coming from. He was quiet again once I had him settled back onto the mattress with a glass of water. No laughter or even a hint of a smile; just a sad little tug near the corners of his mouth that pulled it into a slight frown.

"Hanna," I tried again, "Are you alright?" Shaky hands brought the glass of water up to pale lips, and as he drank, his eyes fluttered shut. Everything was silent as he set the water down on the floor; I was watching his movements turn more unsteady and jerky by the second.

Finally, "I'm okay. Everything's…okay. M'sorry about that," he gestured wildly towards the bathroom door, flinging his glasses off to the floor again and flopping down onto his side. And for a while there, it seemed as if that was that. I picked up a book and got to the second chapter before Hanna caught my attention again.

"Hey, Theo," he whispered, not turning to face me. Theo was a new one, though. I hummed out a reply to show that I was listening. "C'mere," was the only thing he mumbled as he patted the bed behind him. Confused, I tucked an old receipt that was on the floor into my book to hold the page.

I crawled over to him, kneeling on the mattress and placing a hand on his hip. Mostly to steady myself, but also to offer a slight comfort as my curious gaze illuminated his upset features. Instead of saying something, anything, Hanna dropped his hand onto mine and pulled me down so I was lying behind him.

I froze for a moment, I must admit, but after a few seconds, I folded my free arm under my head to act as a pillow and maneuvered the hand that Hanna was clutching up to cover his heart. I could feel the cool metal of a staple beneath his tank-top- I wondered for the umpteenth time what would happen if it were extracted from the pale skin it was embedded in. I wondered if he would fall apart. But then again, doesn't everything? I know I do, but Hanna's always there to stitch me back together again.

I've not a clue where the audacity came from, but I pressed a lingering kiss to Hanna's left shoulder. It seemed to help his trembling, so I rested my forehead there after taking my mouth away. He slowly stilled, his breathing evening out as he slipped back into sleep.

That's when I decided. If Hanna ever fell apart, I would be there to stitch him back together again. I smiled at my mental promise, but decided not to bring it up. Not unless Hanna brought his nightmare up, maybe. But maybe not even then.

I made another mental note to mark the smile on Hanna's chart for him. Maybe that's what I'd do. If he commented on the extra tally under my name, I would tell him everything. Or, maybe, I would just let it be.

My mind wandered even further as I absorbed the warmth of the body sleeping against mine, and I allowed myself to get to the point of so far gone, so spaced out, that I was pretty much sleeping, anyway. Even if I technically couldn't it worked just the same.

And only when the light streaming through the lone window hit Hanna at the right angle and lit his features up, did I stir. _'The definition of beautiful,' _I thought. I suppose my mind wanders a lot during the day, too.


	2. Chapter 2

I had gone for a walk because, even though the sun was shining through everything (the clouds, snow, dirty window) and onto Hanna's face, he had yet to stir. I had grown restless. Ever since I had cheated death, I hadn't been a fan of sitting still for so long. Or, rather, lying.

I think one might label it as wanderlust, but if you were to ask me, zombies (or whatever I am…) don't seem to be able to feel any kind of lust. Don't be mistaken- we can _feel_, because god knows I feel something towards the ginger I left sleeping in the apartment- I just don't think _lust_ is one of those leftover emotions. Love, maybe, more so affection…

I have all 206 bones, for the most part. I was actually quite thankful I could no longer spring the 207th, if you know what I mean. I sighed, some part of my broken mind expecting to see a plume of white come out as a result of the cold. It didn't happen, and it just served to aggravate my restlessness even further.

I pulled my scarf up higher, partly to hide my face and partly to fend off the snowflakes sticking to my skin. Maybe I should've headed home a while ago.

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I entered the apartment silently, expecting Hanna to still be asleep. I was half-right. He _was_ in bed, but he was sitting up with the blanket tight around him, staring at the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.

Our eyes met and the look stayed for half a second, before melting away into a happy-ish smile. It didn't quite meet his eyes, and that's how I knew it wasn't real. "Knew it was a stupid nightmare," he mumbled as he flopped back.

"What?" It wasn't that I didn't hear him; I was simply hoping that he would elaborate. He didn't. Hanna shook his head, "I said, 'Glad you came back here'." I wanted to point out that there was nowhere else for me to go, but I opted to shake my head back at him.

Sometimes he was close to the point of infuriating, but I knew that this was not a topic I should push. Maybe at a later date, if he didn't tell me himself, but not right now. I shed my scarf, jacket, the fedora he had gotten me, and left it all by the drafty front door, coming to sit next to him on the mattress.

I carded my fingers through his hair again, just as I had last night, and I watched as his eyes fluttered shut and he let out a small, contented sigh. I meant to ask him if he was okay again, but it came out as, "You hungry?"

Maybe I do worry too much. He shook his head and tossed an arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight, so I removed my hand from his hair and rested my head in my palms. After a few moments, he peered around the bend of his elbow at me.

We didn't say anything, but I held his gaze for a few moments before flickering away and down to where his tank-top was riding up. The bare skin there just barely hinted at the beginnings of the zig-zagging scar, the silver metal of the bottom most staple gleaming in the sunlight.

I wonder if he realized. I've only ever seen Hanna shirtless the one time; he was very careful to keep himself covered as to not raise questions about it. I suppose that when he said that it was a one time deal, he really meant it.

Testing the waters, I lowered my hand down so my fingertips ghosted over the tail end of the scar. I could already feel him tensing, but no move was made to stop me as I slowly pushed the material up, revealing more and more of the scar as I went.

Hanna's breathing had quickened, almost to the point of hyperventilating, so I glanced back up at him. Instead if his arm, the palms of his hands pressed hard into his eyes. I didn't see the point of him trying to hide. Keeping a hand near the middle of his stomach and leaning forward, I captured one of his wrists and tugged it away from his face. The other hand followed, but his gaze stayed averted, no matter how hard I tried to catch that, also. It was unsettling.

After a few seconds, I stopped trying. I looked back down at the scar across Hanna's torso, fingering it lightly and watching as the man's breath hitched in his chest. I wondered if he remembered the pain that had come from this particular wound. I wondered what _had_ caused a wound like this.

Again, not a subject I felt I should press. I was already in a precarious position as it was, and I was in no hurry to be out of it. Finally, Hanna spoke up. "You left," he still wouldn't meet my gaze, though. I furrowed my brow in confusion.

"Hanna, I always leave. It was just a walk-" He shook his head and propped himself up on his elbows, eyes trailing down to where my hand rested over a staple. "My dream-" his voice caught in his throat and I thought, _'Nightmare.' _"You left because I was an idiot and fucked up again. You didn't come back, no matter how long I waited. I'm always screwing up," he muttered weakly, sitting up fully as my hand dropped off his stomach.

The tank-top fell back into place as he fumbled for his glasses by the side of his bed, an irritated shade of red dusting his cheeks. He slid the glasses on, staying perched on the edge of the mattress, curling his arms around his legs and leaning his forehead against his knees.

"Hanna," I breathed out; the only response I got was a quiet sniffle. I frowned slightly, scooting forward and placing my long legs on either side of his compacted form. I wrapped my arms around his trembling frame, gaining some relief when he didn't try to pull away, opting instead to relax into my hold.

He may be twenty-four years old, but he was still so childish sometimes. "I'm sorry I'm so stupid," I heard him choke out. I rested my chin in the junction of his shoulder and chuckled lightly. "Hanna, you're not an idiot."

I think he might've hiccuped. "But I still fuck up," was his next self-degrading statement. My chuckles died down into nothingness as the weight and the seriousness of Hanna's mood sunk into my mind. He was so worried about me leaving. But the truth of it was, I don't think I ever could.

I loosened my hold on him a bit, only to let my hands travel down and settle on his hips. He turned his head slightly to look at me, a question dancing behind closed lips. I just shook my head back at him. "Hanna, the only reason you're an idiot, is even thinking that I'd walk away from all this." _'From you,' _I added mentally.

He didn't react for a long time. He just searched my gaze with his own, piercing one, worrying his bottom lip as he searched for whatever it was he was looking for. Finally, he seemed to find it, as the heartbreaking smile spread over his face again."I still screw up though?" Hanna asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I shrugged, a grin dancing over my own features. "Well, yeah, stuff happens. Besides, we all learn from your mistakes, Hanna," his grin turned into laughter as he bolted up away from me and to the closet.

I just watched as he pulled out one of his sweaters, some jeans, and I must've been more zoned out than I thought, because when he snapped me back into focus, he was fully dressed and saying something about the misadventures of Professor Slip Up and his ever loyal Understudy, Steadfast.

I sighed, but it was good-natured. Leave it to Hanna to be the epitome of my afterlife, with all of his oddness and unpredictability and unorthodox way of denying death. But that was what I signed up for, I suppose, the second I asked if he was hiring as I threw my scarf on his head and walked into his apartment.

If I was going to deny death, I wanted it to be interesting. And that was Hanna; compelling in all his ways. And I would never care how much Hanna seemed to screw up. Because, as he had said, our adventures into the paranormal side of things were typically disastrous. With that said, I've begun to think that, perhaps, I am being a bit too...analytical.

I don't think I can really afford to be any amount of analytical; I'm a zombie, for god's sake, and in an otherworldly side of business, to top it off. But that's just how my mind works. Who knows, maybe I was a lawyer before I died. I'll have to run all this by Hanna sometime; I bet he'll get a kick out of it. I know I do.


End file.
